


little minnow

by fromcrickhollow



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Period-Typical Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 19:50:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19470979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromcrickhollow/pseuds/fromcrickhollow
Summary: You wake alone in a sea of monsters.





	little minnow

**Author's Note:**

> a what-if I've been toying with for awhile. did all the Highborne serve Azshara willingly?

To serve the Light of Lights was the highest of honours that a child of any House could receive.

You don't remember much. Just her face and the incense burning in her rooms. How to kneel prettily. The light of Sargeras reflected off of her pale hair. The hypnotic sound of harps and the swans swimming along the shore of the Well of Eternity. You do, however, remember the fear. You all wanted to go home. One of the other girls tried. The Queen made you all watch as she was devoured, alive, by hellhounds. Nobody tried to flee again.

"A gift," The Queen was naked and petting your shoulder. Her perfume made you sick. "Good girls are rewarded."

It was a little necklace. A chain of truegold and a moonstone drop that nestled in the hollow of your throat. 

You can't remember anything else.

Until you do.

There are no mirrors here but you have four arms and your legs are gone. It is dark and cold here. The Well is no longer and you are surrounded with sharp-toothed things. Naga, you hear them call each other. Inside the pearly shell you are ensconced in the necklace is broken and you are horribly, terribly aware.

Azshara comes every night to sing the others to sleep. It is not just you here. There are hundreds of thousands here in these things - not quite pearls but too big to be eggs, all will something inside. Her eyes still cruel underneath the softness of her voice and at least now she looks like the monster you knew her to be. She whispers to you of N'Zoth when she comes to you, and you pretend to still be sleeping.

There is a spear in your tail and you are surrounded.

Trolls. You remember these - your father had hunted them, Before. Zar'Jira had explained the utter nuisance that these trolls were. Insects in the way of the Glory of Azshara. Her blood is caked on your scales and there is so much yelling -

"Why?" He asks you. You know him to be Sen'jin. He is powerful and blessed by his gods. It is why Zar'Jira wanted to kill him. Crafty, powerful trolls were always trouble. The only thing to do is to kill them. Trolls are tricky and sly, Father had told you once. The only good troll was a dead troll.

Azshara wants him dead. She wants the green-skins from beyond the stars dead too. The Queen had never liked opposition. You hold out the broken necklace in your hand. You are awake and alone - Father wouldn't have helped you, too greedy at the reward of his child serve the Queen. But Sen'jin spit in the face of his Empire. He is brave. 

"Help," You say desperately. You are not strong enough. You want to go home. "I am lost." Azshara preferred her servants beautiful and silent and now your throat is different. Speaking is hard - in Nazjatar they do not speak in the same way the people do on the surface. There are a lot of spears pointed at you - you don't want to die.

"Why would you turn against your own kind?" He asks again. You aren't like them. You aren't Naga - but you are, aren't you? You can't even remember your old face. Naga can't cry. You've tried. Instead you hiss and your crest flares - you falter and tremble. The water sparkles when you turn to stare at the ocean.

"Azshara lives and is rebuilding Zin-Azshari in the deep. Her Empire is vast," You beg. Plead. Please. Please. "N'Zoth will wake." 

And in Sen'jin's hand the necklace bursts into flame. It hurts and you wail, thrashing in the sand despite the spear pinning you in place; you scream and tear at yourself. You want to go home, you whimper. His gods are so angry - it isn't your fault, you do not worship at the altar of the Old Lord of Madness and you did not walk hand in hand with the demons of your own will.

It becomes very quiet. Footsteps shuffle closer, a drape of cloth (a shawl? You remember those) falls around your shoulders. It smells like trees and cookfires and you melt under the weight. You can't remember the last time you have felt so warm or seen trees and sunshine. It is loud with the chatter of many voices and his gods are quiet now. Angry. But quiet. Have they heard you? Elune ignores you and you have prayed so very hard. You thought it was because Ny'alotha and Nazjatar were so far down in the dark waters but even in Vashj'ir and in the shallows Mother Moon has turned away.

"Come," He says kindly. "We will help each other." You reach out and place (one of) your hand in his. Sen'jin's hands are warm. And he, when the big green-skins takes the spear out of your tail, soothes the hurt away.

You are very small and very lost. But perhaps, for the first time in tens of thousands of years, you are not alone.


End file.
